


give me life, give me love, scarlet angel from above

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Era, F/M, Fluff, season 6 episode 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-30 02:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: Photo prompt fill #5 (picture was a map of castle black)Or where Jon and Sansa reunite in Season 6 Episode 4





	give me life, give me love, scarlet angel from above

**Author's Note:**

> I've changed the timeline a bit with this--Sansa arrives much sooner (a day or so) after he's been resurrected, as opposed to probably a week or so later.
> 
>  
> 
> Title is taken from Miracle by Shinedown. It's very Jonsa-y.

Jon thought he was dreaming. The gods were fucking with him, surely. This was what happened when you bring someone back from the dead: they hallucinate the ghost of their supposed dead half sister. Because that wasn’t Sansa standing in the yard of Castle Back. It couldn’t be.

She was too pale, too thin, too haggard, too grey to be the radiant girl he’d grown up with.

Jon took the stairs down slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving that apparition for fear that it would disappear. The ghost stared back at him, eyes tracking his movements.

Jon was pretty sure his heart had stopped beating again—for the second time in as many days.

He stopped in front of her, still not having blinked. She was breathing he could tell that much, but what did that tell him? Did ghosts breathe? He did, but he wasn’t a ghost. At least, he didn’t think he was.

He didn’t know what he was.

Jon wasn’t moving. Even if it was actually her, he didn’t know what to do. The sister who had spent their childhood calling him nothing but half brother wouldn’t want a hug from him, but the woman standing in front of him was not that sister.

But then Sansa’s arms were open, and she was hurrying towards him and _Seven hells_ did it feel good to hold her.

 _She’s real, she’s real_ , he told himself, hugging her tight and closing his eyes.

_She’s real._

* * *

 

Once it began getting dark, Jon escorted Sansa to her room. He thought Queen Selyse’s recently vacated chambers would do for her. It had been the only one fit for a queen after all, and probably the closest thing to what she was used to from King’s Landing.

“Satin will come around with some food and more wood for the fire soon. I’ll have guards posted as well,” Jon told her, walking around and lighting the tapers in the chamber before lighting the fire in the pit. Sansa stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped around herself, still in his old cloak. She nodded.

He opened his mouth to say something more, about her plan to take back Winterfell, something more about how tired he was. She didn’t understand. He wanted to be done, put Longclaw in its scabbard and hang it on a peg instead of his sword belt. He wanted to know what it was like to walk without its weight around him. Wanted to know what it was like to lay his head down at night tired, but not exhausted. He wanted to grow old enough to have children of his own and raise them in a time without wars.

Only he knew Sansa probably wanted the same thing as him. She hadn’t told him what happened to her in the south, but he knew she must have gone through something to change her from the child she’d been to the woman next to him now. She was probably just as tired as he was, he thought. She probably wanted to raise her children in times of peace as well, in her home. At Winterfell.

Jon knew he wasn’t done fighting yet.

“Good night, Sansa,” he said instead, turning to leave her.

“Wait,” she called hesitantly, thin fingers clutching the edges of the cloak. “I’m not taking your chambers, am I? These seem rather…” she trailed off, looking for the right word.

“No, this is where Lady Selyse slept while she and Lord Stannis stayed. They’re the warmest chambers.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He nodded and turned to leave again. “Where do you sleep, then?” Jon shrugged. He hadn’t taken the Lord Commander’s chambers when he’d been named. He’d stayed in his steward’s cell tucked back in the castle.

“Steward’s chambers outside the Lord Commander’s.” Sansa paused, turning to him.

“But I thought you were the Lord Commander.”

“Not anymore,” he said, surprised at how relieved he was that the weight of the title was someone else’s now.

“Oh.”

“Sleep well, Sansa.”

“You as well, Jon.”

Jon passed Satin with a trey of food on his way down from Sansa’s chambers.

“Make sure she’d fed and warm. And that nobody aside from you, the Lady Brienne, Podrick, or myself enter her chambers,” he told him, voice low so none of the other men could hear.

“Yes, Lord Commander.”

 _I’m not the Lord Commander,_ Jon wanted to snap, but he knew Satin wasn’t the one to take out his anger on. It wasn’t Satin’s fault. He was just doing his duty the same way Jon had been.

* * *

 

Jon was sitting in front of the fire in his cell, Ghost’s head at his feet. He was trying his damnedest not to fall asleep. He was terrified of the dark beneath his eyelids. Terrified of that darkness, emptiness—the nothingness that existed on the other side of the fourth knife.

Jon wasn’t sure which scared him more: the nothingness of sleeping or the fear of not waking up again.

The quiet knock on his door was enough for him to jerk his head up from where it’d fallen against his chest. Jon had to take a few deep breaths to steady his heart—the pace at which it was racing was embarrassing.

“Come in,” he called once he was calm enough to face anyone. He knew it was probably just Edd or Satin with a report or question, given the fact Ghost hadn’t stirred from his spot on the floor. To his complete surprise, Sansa stepped in, still wrapped in his cloak, shutting the door behind her.

“Sansa, is everything all right?” he asked urgently, as she looked pale and stricken. It was in that moment Jon realized he’d pulled off his tunic earlier and had failed to replace it.

“Jon, I…” she breathed, stepping closer to him. He twisted to yank his tunic from the chair and pull it over his marred chest.

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized…” he mumbled, adjusting the tunic so that it hid the still fresh wounds.

“What happened to you?” Sansa asked softly, stepping forward again. Jon had to force the shrug. He’d alluded to it earlier, over stew and ale, but telling her the whole story in the warm glow of the fire hardly seemed appropriate. Not when she’d only been safe for a handful of hours.

“I made some unpopular decisions as the Lord Commander,” he said flippantly, turning from her.

“Those will scar.”

“Aye, I suppose. They’re not my first. They probably won’t be my last either, if we’re to take back Winterfell from the Boltons.”

“Sit down.” She motioned to the chair he’d been in by the fire and he was so surprised at the strength in her voice that he did without question.

“Have you a needle and thread?”

“In the cabinet.”

“Take your tunic off. This might hurt a bit,” she murmured, coming closer while deftly pulling the thread through the needle. Jon had forgotten how skilled she’d always been with a needle. Jon pulled the fabric over his head as she kneeled in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he jerked at the needle piercing his skin.

“It’s fine,” he said gruffly, turning his head away from the needle. He could feel her fingers light and quick against his skin. He couldn’t believe how warm they were. He thought it was the first warmth he’d felt since coming back. Not that he’d been cold, but he’d been numb. With Sansa sitting so close and her hands on his chest, he felt warm though.

He hoped she couldn’t feel how fast his heart beating under her hands.

“Did you mean what you said? That we would take back Winterfell?”

“Aye. I’ll certainly try.” He could feel her eyes on his face but he kept his eyes on the fire.

“And we’ll succeed,” she added firmly. The _we_ didn’t escape Jon’s notice, though he doubted she would be anywhere near the battlefield. She wasn’t like the spearwives of the wildlings, even if she wasn’t the same as the child she’d been.

“What if we don’t?” _What if **I** don’t?_ he thought, looking at the glow of the fire making her hair shine a coppery color.

“You will. You’re _Jon Snow_.” She said it as if his name carried weight and not in the snide way she might have said it when they were children. “You’ve brought the wildlings south of the Wall, convinced them to join the Watch. You’re one of the youngest Lord Commanders of the Watch. You’re a skilled swordsman and the last known living son of Ned Stark. You can take back Winterfell,” she shrugged as if this was a small feat to add to his list.

“How did you…?” She shrugged again.

“Satin was happy to answer any questions I had. There. They’ll scar but they’ll be smaller than they would’ve been without it.” She tied off the thread and rose, walking away from him.

Jon pulled his tunic on again, unsure of what to say to her.

When she turned again, her eyes landed on his feet. He almost tucked them away, wondering if his holey boots offended her, until he realized she was looking at Ghost.

“I hadn’t realized he was there. Ghost really is an appropriate name for him.”

“Thanks.” She kneeled again, this time pulling Ghost’s head into her lap and stroking his ears. “Mind if I stay here for a bit? With Ghost?”

“Not at all,” he said, pushing himself up from the chair. He felt the threads pull slightly, but he liked the pain. It reminded him that he was alive again. He sat on the floor nearer Ghost’s haunches, petting the wolf’s back.

“He’s very calming. Like you,” Sansa admitted quietly. Jon’s eyes were just quick enough to see hers flit away from his face. “I feel safe with you, I mean.”

“Good, that’s good,” he mumbled, ducking his head so that she couldn’t see the heat rising in his face.

“You’ve always been that way,” Sansa continued. “Remember when we were children? We’d all come to your chambers when there was a storm or Father was out somewhere and we heard a noise. You’d let all of us sleep with you and you never once complained. Even though you usually ended up on the floor because Arya kicked in her sleep.” Jon laughed at the memory.

“She always said she was coming in to protect the rest of you with me, even though she jumped at every clap of thunder.”

“And Robb somehow always found an excuse to come in as well. The two of you would make up games to distract us until we were too tired to stay awake. What was the one we played? Where you said the first word that came to you?”

“Oh, I remember that one. It was the only one Arya wouldn’t try to cheat at.”

“Do you want to play it? It looked as though a storm might be coming through.”

Jon opened his mouth to ask if there was really a storm but he realized a second later that it didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point of what she was asking.

“Green.”

“Highgarden.”

“South.”

“Escape.”

* * *

 

They played for hours, parts of their recent histories being revealed through it. They played late enough into the night that Jon was tired enough to want to sleep—he wasn’t terrified at the prospect.

“Can…Can I sleep here tonight? Like when we were children?” Sansa asked after covering another yawn.

“Of course. You can have the bed.” Sansa smiled softly at him, rising to her feet and walking over to the bed. Ghost followed at her heels, leaping into the bed after her. Jon stretched out before the fire, still feeling the warmth of where Sansa had been sitting. He tried to focus on that rather than how the floor felt the same as the table he’d woken up on.

Sansa must’ve heard his shifting around, unable to sleep.

“Jon? There’s room still. I promise I don’t kick in my sleep.” He sat, but did not move towards the bed.

“Are you sure?” he asked. She was just barely visible between the wall and Ghost.

“I’m sure. I trust you, Jon.”

Jon climbed slowly into the bed, trying not to jostle it too much. Ghost was between them, but he still wanted to be careful not to touch her.

Ghost was between them, but he could still feel her warmth soaking into him, reminding him he was alive.


End file.
